Canary Pecked
by TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba
Summary: There are times when Black Canary can't reach Superman. However, Dinah Lance knows a billionaire who knows this reporter…
1. one

I dedicate this piece to the freakishly retarded bird that sits in the tree outside my window and sings every _night _at 1 in the morning for approximately 40 minutes…every _night. _It only sings at night; it's not an owl. It's just…so very stupid.

If they're Young Justice, would that make the others Old Justice? Hm…

Warning: Old Justice people love

Disclaimer: Young Justice and its characters aren't mine, but I claim rights to the term 'Old justice people love'. Also, the middle name 'James' is co-owned by me and Toadflame.

**(*v*)  
><strong>

The sun was bright in the skies of Star City. A cool breeze blew through the bustling city, a sign of the winter to come. Still not quite time, the birds native to that area were not deterred by the as of yet gradual climate change. The birds flitted through the skies and perched along trees, buildings, and electric lines, letting out their songs.

Oliver was desperately tempted to shoot them all. Yet at the moment, that was too much effort.

Sunlight peeking through the drapes of floor to ceiling windows, his house seemed vast and empty. It was definitely too big for one person, and his bed was way too far away for him to get to without someone carrying him. Unfortunately, no one had stuck around long enough for him to subtly get that point across. If the sun hadn't been so darn bright, he might have deluded himself into thinking his home wasn't quite so large and mustered the will to get to his room. Of _course, _this wasn't the case. That couch was old and liable to make his back ache more, but it was better than making that long journey _to _the stairs, _up_ the stairs, _down _the hall…he was getting even more exhausted just thinking about it.

Ollie only paused long enough to remove his bow and quiver from his back before collapsing onto the corner of the long, L-shaped sofa. He groaned appreciatively, finally off of his feet without the assurance he'd have to get up anytime soon. That thing in Cambodia had just been excessively brutal. Let it be said once more: time-travel _sucked._ It just did. And it should never be mass-developed because apparently, there were one too many idiots running around who thought they were a god and could screw with history.

He moved, just so slightly to adjust his position, and his muscles let him know that was a _bad _idea. Oh, yeah; he was _so _sleeping through that board meeting later. It's not like anything important was going to happen. Beside, Bruce did it all the time. In fact, he'd take a pre-nap, just to ready him for the main one. Peeling his mask off and letting it drop, he draped his arm across his eyes to banish the light.

…

Soft clicks echoed across the hardwood floors in the hall. The steady click-clack beat paused at the doorway where a moment passed as the steps grew louder. With each click, Ollie felt just a little less tired – ah, the delusions of the mind. The footfalls muted as the woman sauntered onto the thick, plush carpet that Ollie's couch rested on. They stopped. A finger poked his forehead, tapped it twice.

"Hello, Di," he breathed.

"Rough day?"

"Technically, with all the time jumping, it was three."

"Aw," Dinah perched along the back of the couch by his head and smoothed his hair away from his face. "Poor old man," she grinned and patted his cheek.

"I'm _not _old," he growled, swatted her hand away with the one not over his face. "What, you and Artemis out to make me feel worse about my life now?"

"Drama Queen."

"Psh. Like I haven't heard that one before."

"Someone's grumpy without his beauty rest, isn't he?"

"Better believe it, babe. We can't have you running around with an ogre."

"You're not an ogre," Dinah lifted his arm away from his face, and he squinted up at her as the light blinded him. The little men in his head had picked up a few jackhammers, but even they paused a moment to let out a few wolf whistles: the woman had a beautiful smile to go with that gorgeous face.

Balancing carefully, she graced his nose with a light kiss. Interesting; it truly seemed like the little men were packing it in for today.

"You're a fairy," she amended cheekily.

His eye twitched.

"You enjoy picking on me way too much. It's bad for my self-esteem."

He feigned wounded and puppy dog eyes. Naturally, she saw through all that nonsense.

"Great for your ego though."

"You know what's really good for my ego?"

"Hm?"

Oliver reached a hand toward her face, and she needed no further prompting. Sliding down to sit on the couch properly, she placed her hand around his wrist as the kiss went on. Resting his weight on one arm, his rough, calloused hand gently cupped her cheek. They only parted once they remember breathing wasn't optional.

Dinah did something that dangerously resembled a breathless giggle. "That's good for anyone's ego."

She drew her legs onto the couch, letting brown, peep-toed shoes dangle off. Still in possession of fair lady's hand, he glanced at the three-inched, pointy heeled things. How did women walk in them? His gaze traveled further up to jean-clad legs to a stylish top that matched her shoes. He smirked, his own brown eyes lingering at that point a moment longer than polite. Farther up, his lazy look over ran back to that deceptive face of an angel, still breathing a little heavy from their kiss.

She arched a slim brow. "Yes?"

"Your nails are green."

Both on her finger nails and toes. A deep, foresty green, too. He found that adorable; his girl was such a _girl _sometimes.

"Very good!" she reached for his face and wiped lip gloss off of his lips, "Tomorrow, we'll work on your shapes."

He snorted a laugh and kissed what-just-so-happened to be the third finger of her left hand.

"Bite me," he said.

Dinah brought their joined hands to her mouth and did as she was told.

"Ow. Ouch!"

She laughed at him as he rubbed his abused hand.

"You're in a good mood today." Theoretically, they were better than her bad moods, but it so depended on circumstance, really. "How much coffee have you had?"

"What a silly thing to ask. I'm a woman on a mission, man of mine. You know how fun those are for me." She winked at him.

"This a personal one?"

"Uh-huh. And guess what?"

She was almost bubbly, and, if he had to guess, had at least two shots of espresso. _At least._ Still, he had a feeling she'd be excited anyway.

"What?

"You can help me. In fact, this whole thing may fall apart if you don't."

What's this? An opportunity to play hero for the damsel and have her owe him?

"What's the catch?"

Too good to be true. He'd probably have to move off of the couch, and that could very well be a deal breaker.

"No catch. I just need information."

She smiled sweetly, and he gave her a skeptical look. Then mentally shrugged. If he couldn't trust his ever beloved, mood-swinging girlfriend, who could he trust? Obviously not his partners. Because _he _was off doing his 'I'm-a-big-boy-look-at-me-in-my-big-boy-pants' shtick, and _she _was a mean, rude little girl who didn't get enough whuppins as a child. And really, she _was _a bit more like a sidekick.

"Ask away."

"I just need to know where I can find Superman when he's not being Superman."

His brows shot way up. "You want me to blab Supes' secret I.D?"

"Exactly!" she kissed his foredhead. "You're so clever."

He decided to ignore the slight patronizing tone, and his eyebrows went up even more as realization dawned. "You're gonna try to talk to Superman about the kid, aren't you?"

Dinah nodded.

Ollie laughed.

Dinah glared.

Ollie stopped.

"And just what is funny about that?"

"Nothing. Just don't be surprised if he suddenly hears whales dying off the Pacific Coast and flits off to save them."

"That's why I'm going to go after him while he's not Superman."

"No, you're not." He grinned at her, and it just got wider as her eyes narrowed.

She was so cute when she was threatening him with her eyes.

"And why not?"

"You don't know who is."

"But you do," she tapped his forehead, "and you are going to tell me, _Oliver_ _James_ _Queen_, or else."

He knew he shouldn't test her when she was in her mother-mode or mission-mode. Mothering-Mission Mode, and he should really just spill his guts and say a prayer for the fools who got in her way. But Oliver James Queen was a fool indeed. He lived on the edge and loved it.

He met her glare with a cocky one of his own. He was daring her, calling her bluff. Then her look changed. It turned speculative, calculating, and Ollie got a bad feeling.

"Fine. Don't. Of course, if you don't, then I won't…" Dinah leaned down close to Ollie's ear, and with each word, his eyes steadily widened.

When she was done, she tapped his forehead again, rose from her seat, and walked a few steps away. Ollie just gaped, wide eyed and stunned. She…had not…just went there. Oh. She was playing dirty now. Pulling aces from the lingerie drawers. It was outrageous and he _really _had _nothing_ to counter that. And she knew it.

Dinah cleared her throat, and Ollie blinked. He shot upright and pointing an accusing finger at her.

"You – that's not fair!"

Her hands went from hips to crossed, and she tilted her head expectantly, smugly. Ollie glared right back. That was low, making him choose. Superman – Clark was a friend and a good guy. He'd trusted Ollie with his identity, expecting him to keep it safe.

On the other hand, Dinah was _Dinah._ Dinah was his fantastic girlfriend and a wonderful woman. And somehow, Ollie just didn't think Ol' Clarky looked all that great in green lingerie.

Besides, it wasn't like Superman was Batman. And he wasn't _that _good of a friend.

Ollie proceeded to proverbially sing like the fabled canary. His name –also his mother's maiden, parents' name, hometown – Hickville or something like that, first girlfriend – he's got a thing for red heads, first job, current job, current residence, favorite food, what car he drove…the list went on, and Dinah made him go over the important things.

He was so whipped, way more than Barry was with Iris. He was firmly wrapped around her little finger. He didn't really care.

Ollie thought he should feel bad, turning his not-so-great friend out like that. But he didn't. He felt pretty good, considering his lungs were aching for air. But on the other half of that discomfort were the mouth and the body and the hands of the stunning Dinah Lance. If _he_ was any kind of friend, Clark would understand.

All too soon, she was disentangling herself from their impromptu make out, despite his protests and ignoring his attempts to imitate a puppy dog with those sad, brown eyes. When her clothes and hair could be straightened no more, she looked at him.

"Ollie," she used her best firm 'I-mean-business' tone, but the airy gasp took away some of the authority. "I have to go."

"Do you have to?"

He didn't pout. He whined.

"Yes, I do. Conner has started school now, and he's still likely to lose his temper. Supe - I mean, Mr. Kent is going to help him out with getting a better control over his super strength."

Mm. Poor Kent. Hopefully, he was smart enough to realize that Dinah was not going to be turned down. She was a fantastic girlfriend and a wonderful woman, but diplomatic didn't really fit in. Things could get very interesting.

"Fine. Whatever." He crossed his arms and flopped back onto the couch. "Leave me for a reporter, see if I care."

"I'll be back later, you idiot."

Rolling her eyes, she bent forward to leave him with a parting kiss.

Ollie though he should feel used, being manipulated like that. But he didn't. Especially as she pulled away, looking so pleased with herself. He leaned up on one elbow, watching her walk away. It was old, and it was cliché, yet totally applicable. He hated to see her go, but…

"What if I told you I love you?"

She did a half-turn at the door. Her green painted nails tapped out a quick beat on the frame, and her smile rivaled a Cheshire's in terms of devious pleasure.

"If you told you me that, I'd say I know. I'm a very lovable person."

With a lazy wave, she continued on her way.

"Oh, come on! Dinah!" he yelled after her, "I'm an old, feeble man. You're just going to leave me to fend for myself?"

Her laughter echoed back to him, and he smiled hearing it. Honestly, that woman could bring a dying man back from the edge. Suddenly, the birds' song was glorious. The sun shine was invigorating. So what he'd gotten less than five hours sleep in the past technically three days? He'd survived it, and he was alive. And damn, if life wasn't good!

And he'd get up and enjoy life, just as soon as he got a little nap in. Stretching his arms and reclining back onto the couch, his muscles now seemed to ache from something more like hard work than the depressing degeneration of age. As consciousness slowly, gently slipped away, a stray thought flitted into his mind.

The image of Dinah hauling Superman around by his ear kept him up a good five minutes longer than he'd intended. That was how long it took him to stop laughing into the quiet of his home that was no less large but not quite so hollow.

**(*v*)  
><strong>

A/N: Young Justice it may be, but these two are my favorite ship for the series, official (yet) or no. Maybe because they're more comfortable with themselves rather than fumbling around, figuring things out.

This is _**not**_ a oneshot, so feel free to Alert to this.

When does not not have creamer for coffee, milk and possibly unhealthy tsp. of sugar may be used. Keep in mind you're mostly drinking sugar with coffee, but the milk almost approaches making it healthy ^.^


	2. two

I…Like…Tea. It's my new coffee.

* * *

><p>Metropolis was deeply in contrast to Star City's easy weather conditions. Rain poured drizzled down after pouring down in sheets earlier that morning. The wind whipped the falling water furiously, soaking even those with umbrellas. Thunder rumbled, adding to the cacophony of city traffic, and lightning frequently skittered across the skies.<p>

Just Mr. Kent's luck that he was running late. There'd been no time-traveling escapades for him, but a rather interesting adventure in deep space over the weekend and a slight exposure to Kryptonite. A typically standard dislike of Monday had warped into deep hatred, and rather than waking when his alarm had gone off, he'd smashed it to itty pieces and rolled over. When he'd drifted awake next, he'd barely had time to trip into the shower.

Despite his abilities, he didn't fancy flying in this weather; it wouldn't be the first time he'd attracted lightning bolt. Unfortunately, he'd gone down to his apartment's parking deck and found his car in need of gas, forcing him to take the train. Getting a cab was near impossible even in fair weather.

During the time he was exposed to the elements, his umbrella had proved as useful as holding a flamingo over his head. Well, no. If he'd had a flamingo, the cabbies might have stopped to stare long enough for him to catch one.

Eventually, he made it to the dry haven of the Daily Planet, decidedly damp.

When he stepped off of the elevator, naturally, Lois spotted him first. To her credit, she tried not to laugh. With a suspiciously twitching face, she'd informed him that Perry wanted to talk to him _now_ before retreating to _over there _before he picked up quiet, hardy chuckles. Really though, that was nice of her, at least making an attempt to not laugh in his face.

Shaking his head and smiling ruefully, Clark went to the men's room first. Perry had been waiting this long; a few more minutes for him to dry off wouldn't make much difference. After drying off as much as he could and hair still damp, Clark dropped his jacket and tie onto his desk as he walked to Perry's office. Lois smiled and cleared her throat as he went by.

He knocked and opened the door. The man sat as his desk, looking particularly harassed while fielding a call from what Clark gathered to be a lawyer, and waved Clark into a chair to wait. Apparently, Lois had used questionable methods once again, and someone didn't appreciate it, if he was hearing right. Naturally, Perry handled the lawyer's threats with the finesse that came to a newspaper editor after years. That being, threats and curses of his own. He ended it all with, telling the man that until he had a video, DNA evidence, or anything linking his reporter to the alleged crime, he and his client could go screw a pooch.

No sooner had Perry hung up the phone than he was pulling a bottle of Tums out of a desk drawer.

"Everything all right?" Clark asked as his boss popped three of the fruity flavored tablets into his mouth.

"Oh, fine. Yeah, just some businessman's lawyer threatening to sue the paper again on account of Lois. Nothing new, right?" Two more Tums. "The thing with that though: I need you off that piece on

"What? But I –"

"No. We knew when we started that piece was gonna piss off a lot of people. With this hanging over my head, I can't afford a flood of leeches with badges trying to suck me dry. Until this," he waved a hand vaguely, "is over, that's on hold."

Understanding that was the end of the conversation, he nodded stiffly and left. He'd been working on that piece for weeks and called in several favors. It wasn't a time imperative issue; it'd still be valid if he waited a few days…but the delay was just annoying.

It really wasn't Mr. Kent's day. The interesting thing about that: it wasn't going to get much better for him.

…

Dinah knew, if she wanted, that Ollie would grant her every whim. It wasn't often she let him do so. She was one of those independent women who would and could handle her own business. She didn't need to be taken care of. But as she rode comfortably in the backseat of her rented escort car with Brooks chauffeuring her about Metropolis, she had to admit it was so convenient to have options.

Besides, Ollie had been the one to give her the card, and she'd told him she'd only use it in an emergency. It was raining cats and dogs and impossible to catch a cab in this town. A bad hair day was emergency enough in her mind. For this meeting, looking like a drowned tabby cat simply would not do.

She'd already made preparations to get to Metropolis before she'd dropped by Ollie's place and fortunately her flight had left before the storm had gotten too terrible. Now, the rain was much less torrential and more drizzling. The car came to a stop in front of the Daily Planet, and her driver came around to open her door, holding an umbrella above her.

She smiled at him, tipped him a fifty when he opened the building door, and told him to grab a coffee. This might take a while.

…

"That's really too bad about your article, Mr. Kent," Jimmy said and Clark winced.

He'd told him and told him to just call him Clark. He kept expecting his dad to be standing over his shoulder every time he heard it. But sometimes Jimmy forgot.

"I mean," the photographer went on, "you've been working like a dog on it, and it might not even be relevant by the time this suit's over. Some other paper could get it, you know."

"Yes, Jimmy. I know."

Clark usually did the polite thing and listened to Jimmy when he talked. That didn't mean he always paid attention, but he never just outright ignored him on purpose. Sometimes, it just happened. As Jimmy tried to be comforting, he found himself tuning out to him and his hearing picked up on other sounds. Fingers clicking away on keyboards, phones ringing, the printer getting jammed, sprinkling rain, toilets flushing…basically everything else.

"It's like that old saying: when it rains, it pours, right?"

Wrong.

"Right."

"Hey, Smallville."

Clark looked up at the woman that had just thrown months of work, research, and favors down a flight of stairs and tossed a grenade after, just for good measure. But that wasn't fair. It wasn't like Lois tried to do these things to him. It just happened. _All the time._

"I heard about your story. Sorry about that," she said, and if he squinted his eyes really, really tight – maybe closed them – he could almost say that she looked apologetic. "But hey, every cloud has its silver lining."

What was with the weather puns all of a sudden?

She grinned and patted his shoulder.

"No hard feelings, right?"

If she were anyone else, maybe. While he didn't make it a habit of holding a grudge, it might be a nice change of pace. But this was Lois. He couldn't be mad at her for being herself. Most days anyway.

"Of course not, Lois," he replied shortly. "If you'll both excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

He put action to words, pulling notes out of briefcase and setting about organizing them. He didn't spare them another glance. Jimmy and Lois exchanged a look. They'd just been dismissed. By Clark Nicest-Most-Patient-Mom-and-Apple-Guy Kent. They backed away _slowly._

He only worked for about fifteen minutes, using painstaking care to restrain himself from breaking the oh-so easily broken stapler that _refused_ to work when he was interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kent?"

Familiar blue eyes from a familiar face surrounded by wavy blonde hair met his gaze. What in the world was she doing here?

"What in the world are you doing here?"

Smiling lightly, she shrugged helplessly. "We need to talk. About Conner."

"Who?"

Her smile turned tight, and she whispered through clenched teeth, "Superboy."

He might have guessed. Black Canary was one of several of the League who felt he'd treated his clone unfairly. But to come here like this and just…

"Now isn't the time for that."

He wasn't liking Lois's not-so subtle glances at them.

"That's what you've been saying every other time I've tried to have this discussion with you. All I need is ten minutes tops, and I'll be out of your hair."

By no means the Bat Glare, Clark had a pretty impressive scowl all his own. To her credit, Dinah didn't blink. Merely crossed her arms and arched a brow.

"I can wait, if you like."

"No," he sighed as he got out of his chair. "Come on."

Curious eyes followed them, and he knew half the men were wondering just how 'Smallville' knew a woman like _that_. He ignored them and led her to an empty conference room. The room was all glass walls and windows. On one side, half hallway and half office filled the field of view. On the other, the downtown of Metroplis seemed to be a water color of grey under the rain-filled clouds.

Unable to ignore his ingrained manners, Clark pulled out a chair for her. She settled into the chair, and he briefly glanced toward the desks of his coworkers. Most of them had gone back to their own business, expect Lois. She was staring, with that look in her eye.

Clark restrained a sigh and sank into a chair as well. He was _so _gonna get the third-degree after this. Typical, considering how his day had been going.

…

Clark wasted no time. As soon as she'd settled her bag next to her, he asked,

"How did you know?"

She grinned, smug.

"I have my sources."

"Ollie told you."

"Yes. But in his defense, I had to work him over for a while before he caved."

She was lying through her teeth on that one. She was pretty sure he knew it too but was too polite to call her out on it. Good ol', downhome values.

"Of course. So…Conner?"

Dinah glanced around to be certain that there was no one within earshot. A red-headed boy kept looking through the glass wall at them, and the semi-familiar brunette outright met her stare. Dinah smiled and waved before turning her attention back to Clark.

"Yes."

"Who came up with that?"

"A joint effort between J'onn and Megan. Conner Kent."

Oh, he did _not _look happy about that.

"Did Batman put you up to this?"

Her eyes widened in surprise for a second. Batman had gotten on his case about this, and he _still_ wasn't in line. _Batman_? That took some serious cahones that she really didn't think the Man of Steel had.

"No, not at all."

"If you're here to try and sell me on the idea that he's my son, you can forget it. He isn't mine."

"I am aware how you feel about your…relationship to him. I don't pretend to understand your logic, but listen to mine. Superboy was supposed to be used as a weapon and his control is less than what I'm comfortable with. He's recently been attending high school with Megan, and not…well, it's _high school_."

"What does that have to do with me?"

She crossed her legs at the ankle to help restrain the sudden urge to kick him. She'd probably just break her foot anyway.

"He needs help with control, obviously. Batman and I have both done what we can, but sometimes, Conner slips. It's difficult to get a read on what he's capable of doing. He needs someone who can understand what he's going through and explain effective ways to keep it in check."

Clark regarded her, quiet for a moment. Dinah found herself getting impatient. How was this a hard decision? What was there to think about?

"You don't have to worry about him thinking you'll be his new best friend. He understands."

No, he doesn't. She didn't even understand.

"Besides that, the what if could be very bad for public appearance Can't you just see it?" she raised her hand, moving it from left to right, "'Superman Neglects Superboy: Teen Put Through Wall'. Not only will it make you look bad and put Conner out there, it'll make the whole League look like we can't handle our own _children._"

"He's _not_ my child."

Such passion in four words. Did he even think of Conner as a child? As a person?

…

Dinah frowned at him, and he heard her teeth grinding.

"I said _our_. You've made it _clear_ that you have no claim on him. I'm not saying take him to a ball game – which by the way, he's never been to one. I'm just saying step up and help a _kid_ who's got more power than he knows how to handle and show him how _not_ to hurt people. That's your thing, isn't it? _Helping_ people?"

Clark just sighed. No one would have _ever _pulled this stunt on Batman. Not even him; he was well aware of that stash of Kryptonite Bruce kept around for 'just in case'.

"You really don't pull your punches, do you?"

She smiled, and he knew that she knew that she won. "Not my style. So, when should we expect you?"

Clark pushed his glasses up his nose and rubbed his eyes. Look on the bright side. The day couldn't get worse. Not for him, anyway. He was going to have pay Ollie a visit after work today.

* * *

><p>I hate Yo Gabba Gabba. At least Barney has freakin' lyrics rather than cult-like, repetitive chanting. On a related note, I love earphones.<p> 


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